


it’s just a matter of when

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Bookish Keith, DO YOU HEAR ME?, Developing Friendships, Drinking, Fluff, I SAID: BOOKISH KEITH, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Hunk (Voltron), POV Keith (Voltron), klance roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: “Please don’t make me explain why this is a bad idea. Have you guys ever even had a civil conversation? By which I mean, the kind where neither of you yells?”“Yes,” Lance snapped.“Is that the conversation where he kissed you?”“You could be happy for me,” Lance said then, and Hunk pulled back, feeling vaguely winded. “You could, I don’t know, say something like ‘Hope it goes well for you, buddy!’ or ‘Is he a good kisser?’ or something!”“I could,” Hunk said and licked the remaining hot chocolate flavour from his teeth. “Except, what are you going to do if it goes really, really bad?”- - -Five times Keith and Lance made Hunk say “ugh,” and one more time they would have if he’d been there.or, instead of losing his best friend Hunk went and got himself a second.





	it’s just a matter of when

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, this got long and tried to capture a lot of things I really want from these dynamics.
> 
> Everyone tries their best. Including ME.
> 
> This wound up a lot softer than I thought it would. I saved the doc as: “you cant date your roommate lance” “watch me hunk” and then it wound up being less about hunk and lance and way more about hunk and keith which i’m really okay with.

 

 

 **one:** Eight dollar lasagna in the cafeteria was a bit less annoying when it was actually, you know, okay. Soft eggplant, nicely spiced sauce...Hunk could stomach that better than he could stomach the floor’s filthy kitchen at the end of the week.

    Lance had two plates in front of him.

    “Hungry?” Hunk asked as he took the chair next to Lance. He reached over to cradle Lance’s cup of hot chocolate.

    Outside, it was basically blizzarding.

    (“It’s not a blizzard, Hunk,” their floor’s advisor, Lucy, had told him with a sigh. “It’s just snow.”)

    “I gotta eat when the food’s good,” Lance replied and shoved an enormous forkful of lasagna in his mouth.

    “Your meal plan’s going to disappear.”

    “Only ‘cause you keep drinking my stuff.”

    Hunk took a long sip of the hot chocolate and licked a smear of whipped cream from his lips. “Oh, that’s real,” he sighed. “It’s proper stuff.”

    “Not from a machine,” Lance added. Half of his first lasagna plate was already gone.

    Hunk eyed the hot chocolate. Much of the whipped cream was already melting into something greasy but still delicious. “Where’d you get it?”

    “No clue,” Lance replied cheerfully. “Keith brought it for me.”

    Hunk froze. Gingerly, he put the cup down.

    “You’re sure it’s not poisoned?”

    Lance scoffed.

    Not that Hunk thought Lance’s roommate was the poisoning type. Well, maybe he did. He didn’t know Keith very well, except that he and Lance had spent the first month of the semester yelling at each other and that the guy could apparently stomach a lot of beer.

    Lance finished his first plate of lasagna and shoved it away. Immediately, he dove into the second.

    “Dude,” Hunk said. “Slow down.”

    Lance had the decency to swallow before he replied: “Can’t.”

    Hunk sipped thoughtfully at the hot chocolate, trying to taste for anything nasty but all he felt was rich chocolate and foamy milk and melted whipped cream.

    “What’s the rush?” Hunk asked.

    “Meeting Keith.”

    Hunk put the cup down again.

    Lance paused with his fork stabbed into his food. He licked at a smear of sauce on the edge of his mouth.

    They stared at each other for a moment.

    “What?” Lance grumbled.

    “That’s what I was gonna ask.”

    Lance shifted in his seat. He let go of his fork and stared at it sticking straight up out of his dinner. His second plate of dinner.

    “Keith’s nice,” Lance said eventually, and shrugged. He grabbed at the fork again and began stabbing what was left of his lasagna.

    Hunk tried to think of the last time he had heard Lance say something positive about his roommate. Lance was slowly stabbing the last of the lasagna into mush. Hunk took a long slurp of the hot chocolate and thought about saying the words: stress eater.

    “Lance,” he said, and that was close enough.

    Lance stabbed at the lasagna faster.

    “Dude,” Hunk said.

    Finally, Lance looked at him again, his mouth twisted into a grimace that made his whole face look vaguely squished. Hunk wanted to take a picture, capture the moment and send it to everyone they had ever known, but his stomach was squirming with anxiety and—dread? was that dread?

    “What?” Lance said, and if Hunk didn’t know better he’d say Lance was blushing.

    “You’re blushing,” he blurted out.

    Lance let his fork drop to his plate with a clatter. “You’re drinking all my hot chocolate!”

    Hunk gestured at the cup with one hand. “Yeah. Hot chocolate. With real milk. Just for you. Apparently not poisoned.”

    “It’s a date, okay,” Lance hissed. “We’re going on a date. We’re going to the movies and we’re going _on a date_.”

    Hunk set the cup down again. Lance dragged it towards him and slurped at it, glaring.

    “Seriously?”

    Lance muttered something that was probably just gibberish and looked back down at his plate. He shoved it away.

    Hunk digested the news slowly. “Why?” he said eventually.

    Lance looked ready to eat the paper cup. “What do you mean _why_?”

    “Oh, well,” Hunk started, drumming his fingers against the table. “There’s that whole thing where you guys screamed at each other for a month straight. And the regular I-hate-Keith rants you’ve subjected me to all term.”

    Lance huffed. “I don’t hate him.”

    “Apparently.” Hunk’s fingers stilled. “I should have caught on to it sooner, I guess.”

    “Caught onto what?” Lance hunched, almost burying his face in his cup. “I didn’t even catch onto it until, like, last week.”

    “How?”

    Lance hunched even more. Hunk was afraid he was going to crawl under the table and the floor was gross.

    “Well,” Lance muttered, barely audible. “He might have kissed me.”

    Hunk stared.

    Lance finished the hot chocolate and crushed the cup against the table.

    “Do you even like him?” Hunk said.

    Lance threw the crushed cup at him, leaving a trail of leftover chocolate drops on the table. It bounced to the floor and out of sight.

    Hunk considered this.

    “Sorry,” Lance muttered. He folded his arms and glared at the table.

    “You’re flustered,” Hunk observed. Suddenly, days of Lance being jittery and quiet made a lot more sense.

    “Well, I’ve got something to be flustered about!”

    “Exams?” Hunk deadpanned.

    “Stop trying to freak me out before my date.”

    “You’re freaking yourself out.”

    “I was perfectly calm, thank you very much.”

    Hunk raised two fingers. “Two plates of lasagna.”

    “I was hungry and the lasagna is good!”

    “Lance, seriously.” Hunk lowered his hand and dragged his fingers across the table. “You can’t date your roommate.”

    “Says who?”

    “ _Dude_.” Hunk hunched over the table, looking at Lance with all the pleading puppy dog eyes he could muster. “Please don’t make me explain why this is a bad idea. Have you guys ever even had a civil conversation? By which I mean, the kind where neither of you yells?”

    “Yes,” Lance snapped.

    “Is that the conversation where he kissed you?”

    “You could be happy for me,” Lance said then, and Hunk pulled back, feeling vaguely winded. “You could, I don’t know, say something like ‘Hope it goes well for you, buddy!’ or ‘Is he a good kisser?’ or something!”

    “I could,” Hunk said and licked the remaining hot chocolate flavour from his teeth. “Except, what are you going to do if it goes _really, really_ bad?”

    “It won’t. It’s going to go well.” Lance slapped his palms to the table, making his discarded plate bounce and Hunk jump. “I’m going to _make_ it go well.”

    They stared at each other. A group entered the cafeteria, laughing and jostling and generally looking like they were having a good Tuesday night. Hunk wanted that. He wanted that so bad.

    He drummed his fingers against the table and looked straight at Lance and said: “Bring me back some popcorn.”

    And a split-second later, Lance grinned and replied: “Don’t I always?”

    And Hunk had a split-second more of feeling like maybe everything would be alright, and then Keith was sliding into the seat next to him and Hunk was painfully, suddenly aware that he knew _basically nothing about the guy who had kissed his best friend_.

    At least the renewed fluster to Lance’s movements was funny.

    “Hey!” Lance said and slapped his hands to the table again, frightening all three of them.

    “Thanks for the hot chocolate,” Hunk blurted, and both Keith and Lance stared at him. Which he deserved, honestly; he knew that. He scratched his cheek and shrugged. “I stole some.”

    “Oh,” Keith said and Hunk realized he was as uncomfortable as any of them. “You’re...welcome.”

    “Lance says you’re going to a movie,” Hunk said.

    “Yeah.”

    “Good luck,” Hunk continued and managed not to punch himself in the face. “I mean, with the weather and all.” He gestured towards the far windows. “It’s basically blizzarding.”

    Keith’s expression said: _it’s really not_ ; but his mouth said: “Yeah. Thanks.”

    And Hunk thought about Keith kissing Lance and immediately wished someone would shove a fork in his brain.

    “We should get going,” Keith said, finally looking towards Lance. There was a twitch to his mouth that Hunk couldn’t figure out, like he wanted to smile—or was maybe nervous, too?

    “Okay, yeah. Let’s—go.” Lance stood, knocking back his chair with a squeak of the legs against the floor. “Bye Hunk.”

    “Bye,” Hunk managed out.

    He didn’t want to watch them, but it was hard not to. They seemed normal. Casual, even, and not bickering which would normally have been a blessing. Lance was babbling, his hands waving as he spoke, and Keith had his head tilted towards like he was— _bless him_ , really—listening or maybe like he couldn’t help it. Did it look like they were going _out_? Did it look like they’d kissed recently?

    They stepped out the doors and out of sight without looking back and Hunk let his head drop to the table with a groan. “Ugh,” he grumbled. “I’m going to die by the end of this.”

 

***

 

 **two:** “I’ve been thinking,” Hunk said around a yawn, hunched in his comfiest sweater.

    “”kay,” Lance said, and Hunk really appreciated the acknowledgement even if Lance wasn’t actually listening.

    “Keith’s kind of short for volleyball, isn’t he?”

    “What?” Lance turned around long enough to give Hunk a vaguely affronted look. “Probably not, if _he’s playing volleyball_.”

    “I’m taller than Keith,” Hunk mused.

    “You’re taller than everyone,” Lance retorted and shoved a ticket into Hunk’s hands.

    “I should play volleyball,” Hunk continued. He shuffled closer to Lance as someone jostled at his elbow and darted around them, skirting the line and disappearing out a side door. A gust of cool wind hit them and both Lance and Hunk shivered.

    “You hate volleyball,” Lance muttered, distracted again and peeking over the person in front of them. They shot him a glare that he ignored.

    “Yes,” Hunk said with all the weight he could. He pulled Lance back by the back of his hoodie. “So tell me, Lance—my buddy—my pal—my most major of friends— _why am I here_?”

    Lance waved a hand, scoffing. “Why’s the line taking so long?”

    “Why are so many people here?” Hunk grumbled.

    It was apparently a popular thing to do on a Friday night late in November: watch university students play a confusing and kind of squeaky sport. Hunk wanted to be in his bed with a cup of tea and his least-maddening textbook, but earlier that week Keith had said to Lance: “ _If I get you a ticket will you come to the game on Friday?_ ”; and Lance had said: “ _Hunk too_?”; and Hunk had tried to say: “ _I’m so good not going_ ” except that Keith had made this weird face and just quietly said: “ _Yeah, Hunk too_ ” so Hunk had left them alone to figure _that_ out.

    Big mistake.

    “Do you know how volleyball works?” Hunk asked as they finally started shuffling forward. He looked down at the bright red streak on his ticket and grimaced.

    “Sure,” Lance replied easily.

    “You don’t.”

    “We’ve all played volleyball, Hunk.”

    “That doesn’t mean we understand it,” Hunk huffed. A tired-looking guy at the door drew a dark squiggle on his ticket and ushered them through.

    And the gym was loud. So loud. Hooting, hollering, and cheering already. When Hunk peered down, he saw the two teams collected in little batches of volleydudes on opposite sides of the gym. It didn’t take long to find Keith, because Lance elbowed him and pointed and said: “There he is!”   

    There Keith was, still wearing the sweater with his name on it that Hunk had only seen on what he assumed were “game days” or whatever. He had his hair pulled back into this stubby ponytail that Hunk associated with Keith wandering their floor, muttering and staring at his notes, but Keith looked decidedly not exhausted. He looked almost relaxed, despite the slightly pinched expression on his face. He was leaned slightly towards another (taller) player who was talking quickly in his ear, which made Hunk wonder if maybe Keith had bad hearing or something.

    “Hey, hot dogs,” Lance said, nudging Hunk again. “And popcorn!”

    Hunk was about to drag them both over for a snack because _why the heck not_ except that was the moment Keith looked up and saw them.

    Well, saw Lance.

    And smiled: big and wide like he walked around wearing a smile all the time. Hunk considered this.

    He sighed.

    “Lance,” he said, tugging at Lance’s sleeve. “He saw us.”

    (He saw you.)

    Lance whipped around so fast Hunk was worried he’d topple over the edge and break his head on the gymnasium floor and scare the crap out of everyone, but he caught himself on the rail and gripped so tight Hunk heard his fingers squeak against the metal. He was grinning too, all teeth and delight.

    Keith pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved.

    Hunk waited for Lance to wave back, but it didn’t look like Lance was going to let go of the rail anytime soon so Hunk sighed and waved for the both of them. It seemed good enough for Keith, who went back to listening to his teammate. He kept smiling, even as the whole group crowded together, and Hunk thought that it was pretty cute but also pretty alarming.

    “Come on,” Hunk said, pulling Lance away. “Buy me a hot dog.”

    Lance peeled his hands from the railing and wiped them on his pants. “I feel kind of sick,” he said, almost thoughtfully.

    And instead of _“_ are you kidding me,” Hunk settled for: “Ugh.”

 

***

 

(Hunk waited for the other shoe to drop, because it didn’t seem like Keith and Lance were.

Somewhere along the way, Keith evolved from “Lance’s roommate” to “Lance’s boyfriend.”)

 

***

 

 **three:** Keith’s last away game of the year was the following Saturday, so he left Friday afternoon for B.C. and _that_ was when Lance and Hunk learned about road conditions through the mountains.

    “Oh,” Keith said when they finally got a hold of him. “We flew.” He paused. “In a plane.”

    Hunk and Lance shared a look. They sat cross-legged on Hunk’s bed, with Lance’s phone settled between them.

    “So...everything’s fine,” Keith said into the quiet. He paused again. Then, with a humour Hunk didn’t share: “Though, our coach threw up three times.”

    “Gross,” Hunk said.

    “Yeah,” Keith agreed, his voice crackling.

    “Hunk has a delicate stomach,” Lance said, and Keith replied with something that sounded suspiciously like “I know” but Lance kept going. “Watching Saw with him was rough.”

    “You threw up too!”

    “Yeah. ‘cause _you_ started it.”

    Keith had been laughing, soft like he was trying to hide it, for a while when Hunk realized he should probably leave them alone, that he was probably intruding on _their_ time. The discomfort was just starting to swell when Keith said: “How did your lab final go, Hunk?”   

    And Hunk wondered when Lance had told Keith about it, and then remembered grumbling about his erratic schedule to Keith over dinner on Thursday, and balked at—something he couldn’t quite figure out.

    “Uh,” he said instead of asking: “are we friends now?”

    “That bad, huh,” Keith said with sympathy.

   

***

 

    Sunday night Hunk was sitting on the cleanest couch in their floor’s lounge, eating a granola bar and staring at his computer screen (more specifically, an all-but-blank word document). Sometimes, he found his tiny room suffocating, draining, terrifying, all at once and, sometimes, he slipped out in the middle of the night and sat in the lounge with its big, uncovered windows and odd smells until some of his worry melted away. He wasn’t always alone.

    The elevator door opened with a ding, loud in the late night silence, and he flinched at the sudden light.

    “Hunk?” came Keith’s voice when Hunk’s vision started to clear.

    Hunk waved. “Hey,” he said, or croaked. He cleared his throat. “Welcome back!”

    He blinked and Keith’s grimacing face came into focus. Keith hovered at the back of the couch. There was a thump as he dropped his duffel to the floor. “Thanks. What are you doing?”

    Hunk shrugged. He gestured towards his laptop. “Essay,” Hunk said and twitched a smile at Keith. “I was very smart and _didn’t_ take English for Engineers.”

    Keith blinked. “That’s a thing?”

    “Yup.” Hunk looked back at the screen. “For a reason.”

    Keith hummed. “What’s the essay on?”

    Hunk shuffled through his pile of loose notes and drew out the assignment. “Here, you can look if you want.” Keith plucked the sheet from him and slid over the back of the couch to sit next to Hunk, his legs folded under him. “Twelve hundred words. Three _scholarly_ sources. I went with number one.”

    “‘Contrast the perspectives of the two waiters,’” Keith read. “‘How does the limited point of view allow…’” He trailed off and looked at Hunk. “Why—“

    “It was the only one I read,” Hunk admitted.

    “Yeah. That makes sense.” Keith lowered the sheet and blinked slowly at Hunk’s laptop screen.

    They sat in quiet for a time, Hunk’s back aching and his eyelids burning.

    “Do you want some help?”

    Hunk looked up. Keith tilted his head.

    “Dude,” Hunk said with feeling.

    “I can proofread for you?” Keith offered. He tugged his hair out of its stubby ponytail, maybe just to give his hands something to do. “And help find your sources, if you want. I’m pretty good with essays, and I know the story.”

    “You do?”

    “Yeah.” Keith shrugged.

    And a lightbulb went on somewhere in the deep, dark, depths of Hunk’s mind.

    “I’ve never asked,” Hunk said. “What’s your major, Keith? I mean, have you declared one?”

    “Not yet,” Keith replied and shrugged again, but he was smiling. “But it’s going to be English.”

    “So you know what you’re doing, is what you’re telling me.”

    “I can probably help, is what I’m telling you.”

    “Dude,” Hunk said again, and Keith just grinned.

 

***

 

    Hunk woke with Keith all but kicking him in the side.

    “Oh, fuck,” Keith was groaning. “Sorry. _Sorry_.”

    Hunk blinked rapidly, squirming upright in time to see Keith scramble back over the back of the couch. “What time is it?” he mumbled. Outside, the sky was still dark but Hunk thought he could see streaks of a slightly lighter blue.

    “Like, six,” Keith said, stretching. He turned long enough to frown at Hunk. “I’ll help you finish later?”

    It took a moment for Hunk to remember, and then he was nodding and waving a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Keith.”

    Keith hesitated, and then gave Hunk a sheepish smile. “I’m going to go wake up Lance.”

    “He doesn’t know you’re back yet,” Hunk remembered sleepily.

    “I haven’t seen him yet,” Keith added, and scooped up his bag.

    “Oh boy,” Hunk said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He fell back onto the couch and it sucked him back into his still-warm spot.

    “Hunk?”

    Hunk opened his eyes again and blinked up at Keith, leaning over the back of the couch and frowning.

    “Huh?”

    Keith hesitated. He rubbed at one eye sleep-crusty eye. “We...shouldn’t tell people, should we?”

    “What?” Hunk shook his head. “You mean, like, Lucy?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Oh geez. No, not yet. They might get, like, weird. Right?”

    “Yeah.” Keith looked mildly relieved, which Hunk took as a win, and then he was gone, probably off to kiss Lance good morning or whatever it was that they did.

    Hunk turned into the couch but was suddenly awake, staring at the windows. Down their hall, his own bed was wailing his name, he just knew it.

    But he was remembering saying: “not yet.” Like the wall he had prophesied Keith and Lance running into was too far away to see. Like this was just—the new normal.

    He sat up again, slowly, and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh,” he groaned into his hands. “ _Ugh_.”

 

***

 

(And then from “Lance’s boyfriend” to “Hunk’s buddy.”)

 

***

 

 **four:** Their first weekend back after the winter break, Lance had this grand idea:

    “Let’s go out.”

    Hunk and Keith looked at each other, and then at Lance. Grinning, Lance waved a french fry at each of them.

    “I’m serious! Let’s. Go. Out. All three of us.”

    “You mean,” Hunk said when the confusion on Keith’s face seemed to be nearing a breaking point. “To a bar.”

    Keith looked momentarily relieved, and then alarmed.

    “Hunk doesn’t drink,” he said, and Hunk thought he loved him, just a little.

    “He can,” Lance decided, and demolished the fry in two bites. “Come on. It’s our first Saturday back! Let’s see the city.”

    “It’s a boring city,” Keith said. “You want to drink.”

    “I want to _go out_. And _have fun_.” Lance stole another of the fries (originally Keith’s) and nobody stopped him. “You both remember finals, I’m sure.”

    “We remember,” Hunk sighed.

    “With the going down of the sun,” Keith muttered, which Hunk thought was kind of dark and maybe blasphemous but sure, why not.

    “More of that is just around the corner,” Lance continued. “More of our youth is about to be sucked away! Keith will get that weird eyebrow tic back when he starts drinking too much coffee! Hunk, you’ll forget how your shoelaces work! And me—I’ll break out.”

    “Horrors,” Hunk allowed.

    “Drinking’s expensive,” Keith muttered. “And I’m an athlete.”

    Hunk snorted.

    “We’re definitely going now,” Lance decided, and that was that.

 

***

 

    Except that it was winter—like, capital-W Winter.

    And that it was the first Saturday back.

    “Great idea, Lance,” Keith muttered, hunched with his shoulders up to his ears and a scowl dragging his whole face down. “Let’s wander outside and freeze our asses off and be sober around a bunch of drunk people.”

    “None of you stopped me,” Lance said, shivering. Hunk thought it both charming and annoying that Lance talked like there were seven instead of three of them.

    “We tried,” Keith said, maybe louder than necessary because the person in front of them turned to eye them.

    “Is this a good bar?” Hunk said.

    They looked at him. Hunk shrugged.

    “I guess I don’t really know what I’m asking.”

    “They’ve got a great beer selection,” piped up the girl in line behind them. Her ponytail bounced as she nodded, beaming.

    Hunk considered this.

    “How great is ‘great’?” he asked.

    “Oh, you know,” she continued. Hunk noticed her ears (and cheeks) were bright red. Cold, drink, some combination thereof—who knew? “Awesome.”

    Hunk did not know. Hunk, as Keith had kindly pointed out, did not drink. “Oh,” he said anyways. “Thanks.” He turned back to Keith and Lance just in time to watch Keith shove his own mitts onto Lance’s hands.

    “It’s winter, Lance,” Keith was grumbling. “In winter, you wear gloves. You _cover your skin_.”

    “This isn’t right,” Lance was groaning. “This isn’t _fun_. Aren’t we in a desert? Isn’t it supposed to warm and dry or something?”

    “There is a very serious difference between a prairie and a desert.”

    Hunk watched Keith tuck the end of the mitts into Lance’s sleeves and thought: hm.

 

***

 

    By “awesome,” the ponytail girl had meant “overwhelming.”

    “Jesus fucking christ,” Keith said, hunched over the table they had snagged. “Hunk doesn’t _drink_ , Lance.”

    “He’s our sober second thought,” Lance replied. He rubbed at his cheeks. “Yikes, but it’s cold.”

    “It’s _winter_.”

    “So you keep saying.”

    “I don’t know what to get,” Hunk said as he spotted their harried waitress shoving her way back towards them. He was going to give her a big tip, if he ever got around to ordering something. “Guys, help.”

    “Just pick something,” Lance said.

    “He doesn’t _drink_.”

    “Anything will do, really.”

    “ _Jesus_ —“

    “I heard you the first time. I can’t believe you kiss me with that mouth.”

    Keith rounded on Hunk. “Do you want a drink, Hunk?”

    Hunk’s brain vibrated. Someone in the corner was shouting, either cheerfully or angrily who really knew. “Yes,” he decided.

    Keith frowned.

    “No, really.” Hunk spread his still-numb fingers over the table and immediately regretted it _what the hell why was it sticky_ — “I do! I really do.”

    “Okay!” Lance clapped his hands. “Beer?”

    “Sure?”

    “Then pick one,” Keith sighed, and looked back towards the rapidly approaching waitress.

    “Which one?”

    “Any one.”

    “Did you decide?” The waitress slid two glasses onto the table and looked Hunk right in the eyes.

    “That,” Hunk squeaked out, and pointed at Keith’s beer. “I’ll have that.”

    She smiled. Maybe with pity. “Sure. Be right back, then.”

    “Oh, Hunk,” Keith muttered and all but dived into his drink.

    “It’s not that hard,” Lance said, a little loftily in Hunk’s opinion. “You just, you know, order a drink.”

    “It seems pretty hard,” Hunk replied with a shrug. “It’s just—confusing, you know? What is everything? There’s no instruction manual. There’s no sign that says _if this is your first time—_ “

    “Yup,” Keith agreed.

    Lance looked mildly offended.

    “No, he’s right.” Keith set his beer back down and Hunk was alarmed at a) how much was gone; and b) the way Lance was eyeing how much was gone like it was a challenge and _maybe it was._

Keith was still talking.

    “Nobody explains it. Movies don’t get it right. People are just like: ‘memorize this list of alcoholic beverages and enjoy yourself!’ There’s nothing enjoyable about not knowing how to order a freaking drink and anyone who’s comfortable with it is just very good at faking.”   

    “Right,” Lance drawled.

    “I’m serious!” Keith raised a finger, just in case Hunk or Lance was doubting the Gravity of his words. “Drinking is stupid to start with but at least it’s kind of enjoyable if you just go to a liquor store where there are labels and signs. And then you bring it home and you drink what you picked out in the comfort of your own—whatever.”

    “We’re not allowed alcohol in res,” Hunk said. “I mean, technically.”

    Keith looked at him with something like betrayal.

    “Unless you’re sneaky?”

    Lance reached for his beer.

    “Do _not_ chug that,” Hunk said.

 

***

 

    At Keith’s third beer and halfway through Hunk’s first and Lance’s second (“Remember Halloween?” Keith had mocked. “No? I didn’t think so.” And Hunk had thought that he was missing something important) someone shouted Lance’s name from across the bar.

    Keith turned first and Lance stood on his toes to look over his head head and Hunk watched them, sipping his beer.

    “Who is it?” Lance asked.

    Keith shrugged.

    They yelled again.

    Hunk pointed. “Over there.”

    A guy wearing maybe three sweaters was standing on a much-sought-after-chair and waving in their direction, the mitts tied to his sleeves waving dramatically.

    Lance grinned.

    “Who’s that?” Hunk asked when it looked like Keith wasn’t going to except then Keith picked up his beer and finished it.

    “My lab partner! From Physics!” Lance planted a loud, smack of a kiss on Keith’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

    Lance was always good at wading his way through crowds. He was easy to hold onto, his voice loud and elbows just pointy enough to get where he needed to go. Tonight, he seemed to slip through like there was nobody here, and in a moment Hunk saw Lab Partner jump down from his chair and wrap Lance in a hug.

    He looked back at Keith, who had abandoned glowering at his empty glass and was instead watching Lance and Lab Partner with an expression that seemed very carefully blank.

    “Keith,” Hunk said. “I’ve never asked but, are you the, like, jealous type?”

    Keith blinked and slowly looked back at him.

    “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Is that something you normally ask people?”

    “No, I guess not.”

    “I’m going to drink his beer.”

    Hunk snorted. “He’ll be offended.”

    “Yes,” Keith agreed. “He will.”

    There was something kind of magical about talking about the ridiculously social Lance like he wasn’t there and hadn’t dragged them out in the cold for drinking shenanigans.

    Keith finished Lance’s beer with a grimace. “He’s got bad taste,” he muttered to the empty glass.

    “I think you’re drunk,” Hunk said.

    Keith pushed the glass across the table, but it stuck in The Sticky Spot they had all been avoiding and toppled over. Hunk straightened it.

    “Getting there,” Keith said, maybe a little slowly.

    “Does Lab Partner have a name?” Hunk asked, peering around Keith again but he had lost track of Lance and Lab Partner.

    “Eli.”

    “How do you know that when I don’t?”

    Keith blinked, and then blinked again. “I...don’t know?”

    “Well, whatever. Eli seems nice.” Hunk paused. “I guess.”

    “I love him,” Keith blurted.

    Hunk had one second of nauseating horror before he reigned it in and didn’t smash a glass into Keith’s (or his own) face. “ _What_? Dude! Come on—“

    “No!” Keith raised his hands defensively and was, suitably, bright red. “Not _Eli_. Eli’s a tool.”

    “Oh,” Hunk breathed, and pressed a hand to his chest just to feel his aching heart. “Oh geez. That’s good. ‘cause you’re dating my best friend and all.”

    “Yeah,” Keith grumbled. “Eli’s not a tool, actually.”

    “You just don’t like him?”

    “I guess.”

    Hunk huffed an uncomfortable laugh. “‘cause you’re the jealous type.”

    The horror on Keith’s face looked a little like justice.

    And then Keith was lowering his head to the table with a groan and Hunk was digesting what had started this latest debacle.

    “Oh,” Hunk said. “You’re not just dating my best friend.”

    “Fuck,” Keith said.

    Hunk patted his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” It felt like the right thing to say.

    “Fuck,” Keith said again.

    “Do you want the rest of my beer?” Hunk asked. “Or will you throw up?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Okay,” Hunk continued, still patting Keith’s shoulder. He was sweating in his big coat. “That’s okay. Um. So. You love Lance?”

    “ _Fuck_ ,” Keith said and lifted his head. He grimaced at the table, and then looked at Hunk. “Yes.”

    “That’s nice,” Hunk said and then slapped his forehead. “Oh boy, nope. That was a dumb thing to say.”

    “Maybe don’t say...anything.”

    “Are you going to say anything?” Hunk peered at Keith. “ _Have_ you said something?”

    “No!” Keith’s fingers tapped at the table. “No. Just—forget I said anything.”

    “Is this too soon for, uh, that?”

    “For what?”

    “For the L-word?” Hunk paused. “Not...like the series—uh, nevermind. You know what I mean.”

    “I don’t know!” The tapping grew faster. “Is it?”

    “Dude, I really don’t know. I’m as lost as you here.”

    The waitress returned, looking even more ragged but still cheerful. “How are we doing? More drinks?” She turned her beam at Keith and then faltered at the look on his face. “Everyone good?”

    “So good,” Keith lied.

    “He’s in love with my best friend,” Hunk supplied.

    Keith glared.

    “Oh.” Her smile grew again. “Well, congratulations! More beer?”

    “Yes, please,” Keith said.

    “Nope, thank you! For both of us.”

    The waitress looked between them and then turned away and Hunk wasn’t sure that she had listened to either of them.

    Lance returned a moment later, cheery and looking slightly mussed, and Hunk watched a combination of amusement and second-hand embarrassment as Keith gaped at him.

    “What?” Lance asked, his smile fading slightly.

    “Nothing,” Hunk said.

    Lance squinted at him.

    “You going to finish that?” Keith asked, pointing at Hunk’s beer.

    “Ugh,” Hunk said, and pushed it towards Keith.

 

***

 

(And then he was just—Keith.)

 

***

 

 **five:** In early February, Hunk woke too early and stared at his ceiling and wondered, not for the first time and not for the last, what it would be like to have a roommate snoring across the tiny room and making it feel a little less cold. One benefit of residence was the noise he could always hear: Alain and Geoff next door, working out math problems and complaining about their sore necks; Ray across the hall, always listening to an audiobook; Keith and Lance further down, yelling sometimes and—

    Well, maybe they weren’t the best example of what having a roommate could be like. It wasn’t difficult to keep this secret for them but it did make Hunk wonder if he was lonely, as in slightly homesick and wishing he had more friends, or Lonely, as in Keith and Lance being all lovey dovey was inspiring something like jealousy in him.

    Honestly, though, sometimes it was kind of inspiring. Hunk could watch them just bicker back and forth for hours. Sometimes Lance would lean against Keith like it was nothing, like it was natural, or Keith would touch his back like he was reminding Lance that yeah, he was there. Hunk wondered about taking notes. Or taking pictures, so they would remember what they were like, here at the beginning.

    And then the anxiety returned, and he wondered if he was more worried about their future than they were because they were quietly, secretly, feeding him all the anxiety they should be feeling.

    All this felt like too much. Hunk threw off his sheets and rolled out of bed. He showered. He went downstairs and considered the university-run concessions and wondered if he could wait until the cafeteria opened for lunch. Maybe he would wake up Keith and Lance. He would drag Keith away from his books and the three of them would make a cold trek to the grocery store and Hunk would plan something that they could help him cook. Lasagna, maybe. Maybe they could just sit together, the three of them, and Hunk could start feeling more at home in his own skin because that’s what friendship did. It made home, or something like it.

    Maybe he could just find something to bug Lance about and Lance could get riled up and cheer everyone up.

    Tapping his chin, Hunk hummed and stared at the coffee menu above the Tim Hortons concession like he hadn’t already memorized it. Maybe that was it: he needed cheering up.

    He bought four coffees (he knew Keith, by now) and a dozen donuts.

    He knocked on the door once and neither answered. He felt a little silly, weighed down with food and coffee on an early Saturday morning with nobody else, apparently, awake yet. So, he tried the knob.

    “Geez,” he muttered. “Lock the door, guys.” But he went in all the same.

    On his left, Keith’s bed was empty but the sheets were rumpled. Hunk turned, and in the light from Lance’s desk (crowded with papers and chewed pens; highlighters and animal post-it notes; notes from both Keith and Hunk and his siblings all with varying degrees and kinds of affection) he saw the two of them lumped together on Lance’s narrow, too small bed. Lance was pressed against the wall, his limbs curled, and Keith seemed to be trying to wrap himself around him with one leg slung over one of Lance’s and his face buried against the back of Lance’s neck. Hunk shuffled closer and thought Lance must have grabbed one of Keith’s hands while he was sleeping, or maybe as he was falling asleep, and squished it tight against his chest and Keith must not have minded.

    He shuffled away and set the box of donuts on Lance’s desk and the coffees on a textbook. He ate a donut, peering out their window.

    He thought about leaving them like that. It was a little weird, but there was something precious about the little bubble of affection they seemed to be wrapped up in and that something precious didn’t need to be popped because Hunk was—well, because he was a little lonely and his two best friends were horrendously (adorably) into each other.

    He licked some frosting from his fingers and ignored the voice at the back of his head (that sounded like his mom, honestly) that told him that that was disgusting.

    He was just about to crawl onto Keith’s bed and go back to sleep and then he heard a rustle and a squeak from between their desks.

    When Hunk bent to peer down, the face of the hamster he would come to know as Red blinked blearily up at him. Then, she scurried her enormous butt into her little cave and, Hunk assumed, promptly fell asleep.

    He ate another donut.

    Then, he twisted in Lance’s chair and threw a pack of post-it notes (hedgehogs). It landed on Keith, who groaned. Hunk threw another pack (owls) and Keith swore. They rolled and Keith fell to the floor with a grunt and a series of curses.

    It sounded like this: “Fucking _shit_ damn—“

    Hunk threw one more pack (whales) for good measure and it whacked Lance in the side of the head as he sat up.

    “Dude,” Keith said from the floor, rolling onto his elbows.

    “Dude,” Lance agreed, rubbing his eyes and blinking down at his post-its.

    “I brought coffee and donuts,” Hunk said cheerfully. “Also, what is that?”

    “Coffee?” Keith scrambled to his feet.

    “Oh no,” Lance said, having more sense at seven in the morning on a Saturday. “Oh geez.”

    “It’s a hamster,” Keith said, pulling a coffee from the tray. “Her name is Red.”

    Lance had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “What he said.”

    “No it is not!” Hunk looked back down at the apparently empty cage. He strained to hear any hamster noises. “How long have you guys had that?”

    “She’s been around for a while,” Keith yawned. “She came home with me at Christmas.”

    Hunk stared up at him. Keith yanked the lid off the coffee cup.

    “She’s a secret,” Lance muttered, and threw himself back on the bed.

    “Ugh,” Hunk said, and thought that he should have realized  _months ago_ that it was weird to throw a towel over a random box and all this time it had been an illegal hamster.

    “She’s a secret!” With his face pressed into his bed, Lance’s shout was muffled.

    Hunk grabbed another donut. “Ugh,” he said again, with an emphasis that was lost on Keith and Lance.

 

***

 

 **(plus:)** Keith was sore. His limbs ached. His muscles were screaming. His hands were vibrating. Worse yet, the loss from the week before still stung and still hung over the whole team.

    “You okay?” Hunk said when he saw him shuffle into their hall. Hunk was clutching his toothbrush and phone, and already dressed in his pyjamas—comfy-looking with yellow turtles all over.

    “Tired,” Keith grunted.

    Hunk gave him a much-appreciated look of sympathy and slipped into the bathroom. Keith paused in front of his and Lance’s door and stared at their names, written untidily on their whiteboard—erased and rewritten over a month of arguing and passive aggressive bullshit. It looked wrong, as he stared it now. It looked—odd.

    “Two more months,” said Ryan F. next to Keith as he stepped out of his own door.

    Keith looked at him. Ryan gave him a small smile.

    “What?” Keith asked.

    Ryan shrugged. “Two more months. And then the year’s over.” He gestured at his whiteboard, which he and Ryan W. had just covered with “Ryan” written over, and over, and over again. Lance thought it was hilarious. Keith thought it was cute that Lance found it so funny.

    “Oh,” Keith said.

    “At least you guys don’t fight all the time anymore,” Ryan continued. “Gotta say it was rough being your neighbour for, like, all of September!” He laughed.

    Keith slouched. “Sorry.”

    “Just teasing, geez.” Ryan slapped a hand to Keith’s shoulder, and then turned away. “Are you staying in res next year?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Well, if you do, just ask for anyone except Lance and do us all a favour, huh?”

    “Sure,” Keith said, his mouth dry, and he watched Ryan leave.

    He preferred Ryan W..

    He rubbed a hand through his hair. Hunk returned, humming, and stopped when he saw Keith.

    “Why are you still standing there?” Hunk asked, frowning. “Are you okay? Like, really?”

    “Fine,” Keith muttered, and opened the door.

    Lance was sitting on his bed, slumped against the wall with his legs dangling off the edge. His headphones were in and he was frowning at his computer screen, mouthing something.

    Keith set his bag down and started towards him, then paused.

    Lance didn’t look up. His frown deepened. His fingers tapped against the keyboard.

    Watching him, Keith remembered suddenly, violently, loudly, that he loved him. He took a step back and locked the door, and when he turned around again Lance was pulling out his headphones and smiling at him.

    “Hey!” Lance dragged himself upright and set his laptop aside. “How was practice?”

    “Annoying,” Keith answered honestly and sat next to Lance. “Tiring.”

    Lance blinked at him.

    There was a swelling in Keith’s chest. He swallowed it down and shook his head. “I’m just tired.”

    “You need a break,” Lance decided. “Me too, because no YouTube tutorial is going to make calculus make sense.”

    Which was a huge lie because Keith knew (but maybe Lance didn’t) that Lance was frighteningly good at math, that maybe it was even _relaxing_ for him. But Lance set his laptop on the floor anyways and flopped back on his bed, his arms open.

    Keith smiled. “I need to shower.”

    “Yeah, you stink,” Lance agreed with an exaggerated scrunch of his face. “But I can handle stinky Keith for ten minutes.”

    Keith shook his head but shucked off his coat because it was easy—too easy, too natural—to melt into Lance all the same and let Lance wrap his arms and his legs around Keith and squeeze some of the tired soreness from him. He groaned against Lance’s neck and Lance cursed his sweatiness and Keith was momentarily worried he was going to fall asleep, and then Lance said: “I need to tell you something.”

    And Keith’s heart stopped. He clutched Lance’s shirt. “What?” he muttered against Lance’s neck, and then regretted it: “Actually, no. Just hold onto it.”

    “What?” Lance tugged Keith’s ponytail free with a laugh that was more nervous than merry.

    All Keith could think of was Ryan’s too-understanding smile and the shrug of his shoulders. He thought that they needed to talk about what was next, if there was a next, but he didn’t know what that meant. He felt barely eighteen, still, dating his roommate and forgetting about the looming future.

    “Well, whatever,” Lance said, irritation bleeding into his voice. Keith’s chest ached. “You’re here now and you’re going to listen.”

    “Lance,” Keith groaned and started to pull away, releasing Lance’s shirt.

    “Don’t be an ass,” Lance snapped, grabbing Keith’s face between his hands. His palms felt cool against Keith’s warm cheeks and Keith froze, leaned up on his elbows with Lance glaring up at him. “I love you, you mullet. That’s all. You can go now.” Lance let go, his hands falling to the bed.

    Keith blinked. “Oh.” He swallowed. “I love you, too.”

    “Oh,” Lance muttered. “Well. Damn, Keith. This is supposed to be nice.”

    “It is nice,” Keith insisted. “Really nice.”

    Lance rolled his eyes. “Hunk’s going to be really annoyed when I tell him about this.”

    “You’re going to tell him about this?”

    “Uh, yeah?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “He’s still mad that we didn’t tell him about Red. He’s hearing about _everything_ for the next month.”

    Keith laughed.

    “I’m not joking!”

    “I know,” he said, and leaned down to kiss away some of Lance’s frustration.

 

***

 

(At dinner, Lance asked Keith: “Wait, what did you think I was going to say earlier?”

    “What?” Hunk said, looking between them. Keith was bent over what was basically a pile of spinach drenched in raspberry dressing (“Salad,” Keith insisted). “What happened earlier?”

    “I told Keith I loved him,” Lance said, like it was nothing.

    Keith frowned and shoved some salad in his mouth.

    Hunk was feeling some secondhand embarrassment again and it was really becoming too much. “You did?” he said.

    “Yeah,” Lance continued. “And Keith was a real jerk about it.”

    “I just misunderstood,” Keith muttered and stabbed at what could pass for his dinner.

    “How do you misunderstand that?”

    “Not the actual ‘I love you’ part.”

    “Guys,” Hunk said. “I don’t actually need to hear everything. It’s okay.”

    “Then what, huh?”

    Keith shifted in his seat and Hunk had the now familiar sensation of being forgotten, and he was really okay with that. He leaned his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm and considered this latest development.

    “Nothing,” Keith muttered.

    And they all knew that was a lie, but Hunk let it slide and Lance let it drop and Keith ate more spinach than was really reasonable.

    “I want to try making pasta,” Hunk said into the sudden quiet.

    “From scratch?” Keith said, like that was impossible.

    “In the kitchen?” Lance said, with reasonable disgust.)

   

   

   

   

   

**Author's Note:**

> I post nonsense on tumblr here. I love feedback!
> 
> i’m going to try and post some more before s7 comes and ruins me and i’d like to get pidge and shiro in this au sometime soon.


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